Pilgrim
by Zealak Silverdirk
Summary: A dream from Redwall's long dead warrior leads Piketail, a hermit otter for long seasons, to rescue his sister. HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

Otter Quest

I

Dipping a beak below the surface of the water, the seagull gulped down a medium-sized cod. As the chill seeped into it's hollow bones, the bird flashed down again and was just barely able to catch another one. Keeping the flopping fish securely held in it's beak, the seagull trimmed his wings and headed to a deserted beach to the east.

A few minutes landed it beside a camaflouged cave. Tapping a rock with it's beak after two second pauses, the rock was shifted, and a paw beckoned from inside. Waddling inside, the seabird dropped the fish in a rush-woven basket near the entrance to the hidden cave.

The creature on the inside, who happened to be an otter, quickly peered outside on the pebble-strewn beach and replaced the large rock in it's former position.

Watching the gull settle into another larger rush basket, he inspected the meal that his companion had brought for him.

"Haharr matey! This's a fine slab o' fish ye brought poor ole me!"

Slinging the cod onto a small-legged table, the otter began to gut the fish. Within a minute he had gutted the fish, made a small fire, tossed some vegetables into a pot with the cut meat and began to clean the small table with a mixture of seawater, a bit of sand vegetation, and a large piece of scouring slate.

Since his seabird friend could not really talk back to him, the otter usually spoke to himself, which he proceeded to do so as he put away the cleaning supplies and stirred the concotion he was making.

"Hmm, this'll be a nice meal fer Skrikeweb and me. Ain't much better'n fish stew, 'cept 'otroot soup or skilly 'n' duff. Haharr. I amembers the days when me ole farther used ter make that fer me and brother Kovestream. The best thing ever to pass me lips. Ooh, now I've gone an' insulted me cookin' agin. Ah well, I ain't too good a cook anyway. What d'you think, matey?"

The seagull emitted a sound halfway between a skrike and a cry.

"Yer right there Skrikeweb! 'S just like ye said. Yer ole friend Piketail can barely keep the food 'e cooks in 'is own stummick!"

Being a hermit, though he was barely old enough to be considered an adult, Piketail (that being the otter's name) usually kept to himself, his only information from the outside world came from Skrikeweb, his faithful companion. The half-crazed otter always rambled on to his pet about the bits of his past that he could remember, which were very few after an unfortunate run-in with a band of vermin.

Keeping himself busy became harder and harder, as Piketail's curiousity for the world grew. It was strong enough to allow him a short peek outside every day, yet not strong enough to let him step out into the sunlight and swim in the nearby ocean.

It had all started to happen about a month ago, when he had had a very strange dream.

In the depths of his mind, a figure began to walk towards him. It was a mouse, or, at least that's what he thought it was. It carried a glittering sword, and was clad in polished armour, though it wore no helmet. The mouse creature was evidently a male, as Piketail soon realized when the mouse drew closer and began to speak.

"_Piketail... your sister... you must find her..._" The mouse vanished before his startled eyes, the fragments of speech he was able to store in his memory before they vanished like smoke on the wind.

Each day, as his seagull brought fish from outside, Piketail grew bolder. Enough to let the sunlight warm a paw for a short while, or his eyes to settle on the sea. At the sign of any other life, besides his seagull, the otter replaced himself in his hide-out for a whole day, not daring to look outside.

As a new day dawned, a month and a half after the message from the mouse warrior, Piketail took a deep breath and surveyed his small home, as if to remember them should something happen to him. Prying loose a fair-sized rock from the disguised entrance, his green eyes darted left and right with great suspicion. Seeing nothing, the otter dared to let out a slow, silent breath.

A lone crab scuttled by, and Piketail froze. If not for his incredible will-power, he would have never come out of his cave. Signalling Skrikeweb to stay inside the cave, the otter ventured outside for the first time since he had come to the deserted beach.

The sun was warming him up fast, but he didn't mind, as his cave got very cold sometimes. Smiling outwardly, Piketail knelt and scooped up a pawful of sand. He let it fall through his claws and was soon batting pebbles into the water with his rudder. Never knowing such a wonderful feeling, the otter whooped joyfully. Sniffing the concentrated salty air, rolling in the loose sand; Piketail was in his element.

Back in the cave, Skrikeweb watched his otter friend strangely, but dismissed it, as Piketail had not gone outside since he had met the seagull.

After a short while, Piketail returned to the cave, tears of merriment and happiness coursing down his rough features. Gathering up the small pot, the larger of the two woven baskets, and a beautifully made knife, Piketail tied his frugal possessions into a small blanket and thrust the knot through a long dark polished wood stick.

Skrikeweb had found it just above the tideline a good while back, and the otter had kept it ever since. The wood was not rotted or warped, it stayed strangely supple and dark.

"Come on Skrikeweb. I've finally willed meself to leave, an' I ain't stoppin' now that I've started."

Taking to the air, the gull followed the otter as he travelled along the beach. Knowing that Piketail wouldn't stop until he collapsed, his companion glided on the thermals created by the hot sand.

_To be continued..._

* * *

I've started up another story. So tell me what you think of it. I might not be able to update too frequently, due to the fact that I also have to write **_"Imaldu"_** but I'll try my best. 


	2. Chapter 2

II

Away from the cold north-eastern beaches, down in the south, stood the grand Redwall Abbey. The large red sandstone building stood at the side of the path, with a beautiful blanket of trees to the east, rolling plains to the west. The sun had just begun to set in the gargantuan vault of sky, tingeing it a mix of orange, lavender and coral pink.

Herding the Dibbuns to the orchard after a good paddle, the Abbeybeasts wiped sweat from their brows after enduring the summer heat for most of the day. There were many chores to do about the Abbey in the warmer months, but being stuck with Dibbun duty was one of the worst.

Dibbuns were the babes of the Abbey. Most were usually calm and quiet, until one bold Dibbun would start a resistense against the elders. This would put all the Dibbuns into a frenzy, dashing about in different directions; making sure the elders could not find them and take them to bed or bath.

This was one of those days. As two hedgehogs and a mole dibbun tried to run into the reeds, the Skipper of Otters; naturally acting as lifeguard, swam over and easily scooped them up in his strong paws.

One mouse ended up in a tree, and a half a dozen others whooped and hollered as they raced on up to the wallstairs. An old campaign hare, name of Mury Cluff halted their ascent as he came down from the parapet.

"What's this we've got here, eh? Dibbuns racin' away from their beds? Not the done sort of thing, wot."

A particularily rude squirrelbabe tried to push past the old hare. "You go move 'way, Missa Cuff. We gonna goo up 'ere."

"Hmph. A trouble maker, eh? We'll just have to find a suitable punishment for the little chap, won't we? I hope you aren't as naughty as young Roffle here." Mury Cluff winked at the Dibbuns as he had the other five surround Roffle, so that escape was impossible.

Gathering in the orchard after giving a good scrubbing to the Dibbuns, they settled down for a hardy supper of carrot and barley soup, hot oatscones, a large meadowcream and spongecake trifle for afters and beakers of raspberry cordial or chestnut beer for the elder beasts of the Abbey.

Gossip and banter flew across the tables almost as fast as Mury Cluff could gobble down a pastie.

"By the looks of things, we're probably gonna be out here awhile," an old hogwife commented while cutting herself a slice of the spongecake trifle.

"I still don't know why Abbess Laurelyne would let the Dibbuns stay up this late," the Infirmary Sister grumbled.

"Ho, ho! Ain't that jus' like Sister Hereene! Worryin' over nothin'!" a big, brawny otter yelled, showering a few others with chestnut beer as he waved his tankard about to somehow emphasize his proclamation.

"That's not nothing! I'm concerned for the little ones, mischievous as they are, Skipper," Sister Hereene shot back.

"Haharr! Ya here that Skipper Kovestream! She's tryin' to challenge you!" an old otter sitting next to the Skipper added.

"You could be right there, father! Can't never tell what crafty tricks she'll try and pull!"

Glaring frosty daggers at the rambuctious father and son, Infirmary Sister Hereene chewed her forkful of salad with anger stamped clearly on her features.

"Oh come now, Sister Hereene, they're just goofing around. No need to bring on the rain with that face," a young mouse whispered from behind the Infirmary Keeper.

Turning to face the speaker, Sister Hereene was completely mortified to see Abbess Laurelyne standing behind her with a smile which hardly contained the laughter dancing in her eyes.

"Uh, uh... Mother A-A-Abbess... I-I'm so s-sorry about that," Sister Hereene stuttered.

"No need to apoligize Sister. I'm sure others were wondering about the Dibbuns, Abbess Laurelyne replied, patting the embarrassed Sister on the shoulder.

Standing beside a torch held by a long wooden pole thrust into the ground. Waiting patiently until all eyes settled on her, Abbess Laurelyne spoke. "As you well know, we have had a late dinner. But what you do not know, is why I have kept everybeast up so late. We shall be having a midsummer feast!"

This announcement brought cheers from everybeast, especially the Dibbuns; who for most, this would be their first midsummer feast.

"Let me continue!" the Abbess called, holding up a paw for silence. "As I was about to say, I will allow one day to arrange everything. This means food, activities, contests, prizes, and yes, a bath for the Dibbuns-"

Boos and hisses and even a few wails greeted this last point, until Sister Hereene gave many of the Dibbuns her frosty glare.

"Now everyone! Finish up soon and get some rest! We've got a long day of cleaning and preparation tomorrow!"

* * *

Skrikeweb landed back on Piketail's shoulder, screeching a report to him, though t'was a wonder how he could be understood by the otter.

"Harr! A big mountain comin' up to the south of where we are? Well, to be safe I ain't goin' over there, never know what creatures live there," Piketail conversed with the gull in low tones.

Another skrike sounded from the seabird.

"Why am I whisperin'? Last time I was near a possible enemy camp, I was with two hedgehogs. We were quickly ambushed because my hedgehog companions talked too loud, an' I was the on'y one who survived. I have no problem dying, but I have an important mission to complete before then, an' I won't let meself die until it's done!" Piketail had accidently worked himself up to a soft yell.

Hissing through his teeth, the otter turned his head in the direction that Skrikeweb had pointed out earlier, and headed to the sound of loud, arguing creatures.

Upon reaching a bush which overlooked the scene below, Piketail barely dared to breath.Hundreds of foul-smelling, hideous vermin assailed his eyesight and nostrils. Clapping a paw to his nose only blocked a small amount of the putrid vermin.

Glancing over at Skrikeweb, Piketail gave the bird instructions by pointing his head in the direction of the horde, and pointed his claw up, but not letting the paw be seen by the vermin.

Nodding slowly, the seagull soon took flight far above the heads of the horde. Many looked up, but Skrikeweb ignored them as he mentally calculated the amount of creatures sitting on the sand. He was just about to turn around and circle into a grove of trees when he heard one lone call.

"First teh shoot that bird down gits it!"

His small eyes grew wide as he realized their intentions. Flying as high as he could go without tiring himself, Skrikeweb had just enough energy to stay in the air.

Screeching at the top of his lungs, the seabird hoped that his message would reach Piketail. He screeched, did whatever he could to try and gain the attention of his long-time companion.

Behind the bush, Piketail could see his friend, clearly in trouble, and soon heard the message. Eight hundred creatures; mostly rats, some weasels and stoats. Need help.

Closing his eyes, Piketail quickly decided on the only solution possible. Biting his lip he took a deep breath, then unleashed a roar so loud, it reverabrated off of every hill which formed the deep valley. "_ARGHHHHHHAAAA_!"

Before the echoes faded into the late afternoon air, the reckless otter hurled himself on the nearest rat. Although it was a fairly long drop down, Piketail's fall was cushioned by the rat unfortunate enough to be closest to him.

Laying about with his hardwood polished staff, he drove many of the vermin away with the ferocity of his attack. But he could only keep it up so long without a proper blade. Only one or two were felled by the staff, most of the others suffered bruised or cracked ribs; maybe the occasional broken limb.

Piketail was able to see a glimpse of his seabird friend Skrikeweb zoom away from the battle. Soon enough, the otter's thrusts would become lathargic and sloppy if he did not run or find help. Both those options were impossible. He would die fighting if he had to, he would not become a slave of these vile beasts.

Just as he brought his stick down to hit a fallen weasel, a sword appeared in the claw of the vermin. Easily deflecting the staff, the weasel grinned evilly as he thrust upward with his weapon, which would have plunged into Piketail's stomach, had a rock thrown from above not crushed his paw. Screeching in agony for only a few seconds, the otter knocked him clean out.

Turning to face any other foes, he was whacked in the face with an axe handle. Stars burst before his eyes and he began to slip away from consiousness. The last thing he saw before he hit the ground and fainted was a stout creature bowling down the steep hillside.

_To be continued..._

* * *

Yep, this is the second chapter up. Hope you like it. I might have gotten into bloodshed a little early, but I felt it would make a better chapter ending. Anyway, thanks for the reviews everyone, and I hope to see more reviews and write more chapters.

-Zealak Silverdirk


	3. Chapter 3

III

Awakening slowly was a huge enough task in itself. Half of his face was badly swollen and blood slowly oozed from a facial wound just below his eye which scraped across his left cheekbone. Opening his eyes the tiniest bit, Piketail breathed a small sigh of relief to know that his eyes were not damaged in the battle.

The battle! How had he survived without becoming a slave? Where was he now? All these questions that ran through his mind were quickly interupted by a fat hedgehog.

"Well, the brave warriors awake now, eh? How you feelin' after gettin' hit in the face widda axe?"

Piketail groaned softly and sat up slowly. "I feel like I jus' got 'alf me face fur ripped off, matey. Who are you?"

"Hah, hah! If anyone should be askin' that it's me, Chief Jukro. I have no hedge'og company, so I'm just surrounded by all these other squirrels, otters and a fat feedbag of a hare."

"I hope you know you just gave me your name, Jukro," Piketail gave a weak smile.

"Well so I did... Hey, hey! An' that's Chief Jukro to you!"

"Co-could you not talk so loud Jukro, yer makin' me head wound hurt like the blazes."

"Ya won't feel much hurt after our squirrel healer fixes you up. 'S like you never had a injury to begin with," Jukro replied.

Sighing heavily, Piketail winced at the pain that lanced arcoss his heavily bruised face. He only looked up for a moment when the healer appeared.

"Let's see what happened here," the squirrelmaid mumbled to herself as she bent down to examine the wound.

Wincing and almost passing out with the pain, the otter closed his eyes tightly as the squirrel touched the long purplish bruise. Soon she was grinding herbs in a small bowl and adding mud to thicken the mixture. When the whole thing was laid on his face, Piketail instantly felt better; though he knew the bruise would take at least a week to heal.

"There, that should make your face feel better." the squirrel told him as she wrapped a length of cloth about his head to keep the poultice in place.

"Thanks for your help," Piketail spoke just as she was about to leave.

"'T'wasn't nothin'. It's my job," she replied casually and walked away.

Just as sleep began to overtake him, Piketail was rudely interupted by Jukro, again. But this time, he had brought a young ottermaid along. Her fur was sleek and glossy in the light shining through the cave, and her eyes were the colour of a leaf, freshly growing in spring. She carried a large piece of slate used as a tray, which kept a large bowl of hot soup, a farl of bread and a beaker of pear cider from falling to the ground considering the amount of weight.

"Here you are," was all that she said.

"Uh... thanks. Hope it tastes as good as it smells," Piketail smiled before he tore into the farl of still warm bread.

* * *

"Git out my sight, all o' ye! One otter killed six of my horde! An' you could barely leave a mark on 'im? What's wrong with you!?" High Captain Craaglak roared angrily at his cowed troups.

The scarred rat swung his sabre around, scattering the horde around him.

One rat directly in his path was unlucky enough to be heard mumbling to a weasel by the High Captain.

"What was that, Mealgrub? You got somethin' to say?" Craaglak sneered.

"B-but Captain, those udder creatures 'elped the streamdog..." the rat soon trailed off as the superior rat's eyes gleamed dangerously.

Mealgrub quickly scurried away before the High Captain Craaglak could decide his torture.

Rolling his one eye at the stupidity of some of his creatures, well, more like all of them, High Captain Craaglak wondered how any other leaders put up with their dumb hordebeasts.

He had always heard it said that the dumber the hordebeast was, the easier they were to control. But he knew that was a complete lie. They were even more difficult with their slow wits and all they ever felt like doing was gambling and sleeping. Sometimes he wondered if any of his hordebeasts had any brains to speak of.

"Uh... Captain?" a weasel started, poking the Captain with a grimy claw.

"What is it, Waxpaw?" Craaglak growled without looking at the speaker. He was completely fed up and did not want to be bothered.

"What we gonna do now?"

The rat Captain faltered for a moment. He hadn't thought of that. Scratching at an unhealed wound an inch below his eye had become a habit for him when thinking, hence the fact that it was not healed. He proceeded to do this exact thing now as he thought hastily for a reply to the weasel's question.

"Hmm... that otter can't run forever now, so we'll catch 'im and show how hospitable we are to guests. I won't be caught unawares again," he answered after a few moments of silence.

"Aye, good idea, Captain."

"Of course it was good, it was my idea, was it not?"

Waxpaw stood motionless for a second, thinking over what he had just heard. "Is, uh... is that a trick question, Cap'n?"

"No, you idiot! Don't you know how to answer to anybeast? Especially your superior!?" High Captain Craaglak snarled visciously at the unfortunately dim-witted weasel.

Not wanting the Captain to find any further fault with his thought-capacity, Waxpaw stumbled away from his angered Captain, tripping over an injured fox on his way.

Sighing heavily, Craaglak slunk off to a tent erected for him on the out-skirts of the horde. The mottled-ash coloured rat slumped under the canvas into a sitting position and watched the antics of his druken horde, gambling away and laughing uproariously at nothing.

A leader's job was the hardest of any horde position. It was almost impossible not to go insane.

* * *

After eating a sufficient amount of food and having Chief Jukro interrupt him yet again, Piketail was finally allowed some time with his seagull friend, Skrikeweb. He was brought in by the ottermaid he had seen earlier who brought the food.

"Haharr! You brought in me matey Skrikeweb, did ya now?" Piketail chortled when he saw the seagull stump along behind the otter.

"Aye, I did, she replied.

Piketail motioned for the ottermaid to have a seat with a scarred paw as he patted his seagull with the other.

"So, why is this Chief Jukro always bargin' in here at odd times?" Piketail asked casually. He knew it sounded stupid, but he couldn't think of anything else to say to the pretty ottermaid.

"Oh, Chief Jukro's always been a bit forgetful. You were out for a few hours before he remembered you were in the cave and might need some food. His kindred aren't much better than him, but they fight well. You wouldn't have escaped those vermin alive if he hadn't come."

"Well, at least the old pincushion can fight good," Piketail nodded approvingly.

A long silence ensued, so long in fact that Skrikeweb had begun to doze by the time the ottermaid spoke up.

"By the way, I'm Swiftstream. What's your name?"

"Piketail. That's me ole friend Skrikeweb," he answered, pointing to the sleeping seagull.

"Perhaps... we should go outside... let your seagull friend rest," Swiftstream suggested nervously.

"Naw. Skrikeweb'd get worried if I left 'im."

As Piketail spoke, his paw rested on the seagull's head, which forced Skrikeweb awake, quite to his indignation. The seabird shreeked angrily and the otter, raging in his own tongue about one injustice or another.

"Maybe we should leave 'im," Piketail glanced over at Skrikeweb as the bird began to settle back down.

Offering her paw, Piketail took it and hauled his aching body up, groaning as his stiff muscles reacted to the strain. "Oh great, now I sound like an old mouse."

Swiftstream laughed pleasantly at this remark.

The two otters toured around the camp, Piketail asking questions and Swiftstream in her turn, answering them as best she could. She was trying to explain to Piketail the ways of the camp at the moment.

"But Piketail, everybeast has to get along with each other. No creature is left out or neglected here."

"Well, I'll be the one fightin' te get away from everybeast. It ain't natural for all these creatures to be here at the same time. It's suffocating."

"Even you, oh soliatary being, have to admit that all this company is a good thing," Swiftstream replied, punching his arm lightly.

Piketail rolled his eyes, but didn't retaliate. He could not measure his own strength, and did not want to knock the ottermaid off her paws. But he definitely didn't say anything to her about it. She was very dignified, but turned ferocious when her athletic abilities or physical will and whim were questioned.

The two otters walked on silently for a time, each lost in their own thoughts.

Piketail was thinking of that time, not so long ago when he couldn't even look out of his own cave, and now here he was, socializing with everybeast he met, against his will! Normally, Piketail would never do such a thing, but he figured he owed them his life and returning a friendly comment or two wasn't going to kill him.

"Piketail! Are you even listening to me?!" Swiftstream yelled loudly into his ear.

He had unknowingly been asked a question, but, being off in his own thoughts, he had completely missed that and at least five minutes of anything else she had said.

"Huh, what?" he stuttered after a moment.

Swiftstream huffed in annoyance. "Never mind, you probably wouldn't care anyway."

Piketail saw the hurt expression on her face and decided to keep quiet, he might accidently insult the pretty ottermaid.

"Well, anyways... Chief Jukro asked me to ask you if you wanted to stay with us for the midsummer feast. Will you?" she asked, her eyes taking on a slightly pleading look. He gave her a strange sideways glance at this, wondering if she even realized that she had done that.

"What? You don't wanna come? Well that's fi-"

"No, no, no!" Piketail replied, his paws automatically waving back and forth as if he meant to wipe away the look he had given her from his mind.

"So, you're going?"

"Uh... I... umm..." the male otter stuttered, intimidated by the female otter's forwardness.

"Yes or no?" Swiftstream demanded, almost growling it out. Her eyes were cold and angry, her way of a no-nonsense answer.

Why couldn't he get out the answer? Was he trying not to laugh at her expression as it slowly turned to outrage? Shaking his head to clear it, Piketail finally got hold of his tongue. "Uh... yeah, sure. I'll go."

"Good. It's settled then," Swiftstream replied, a note of relief detected in her voice. "I'll tell Jukro that."

The two walked in slience for a time, Piketail savouring the quiet, peaceful forest, Swiftstream enjoying another's company. Although a chilling breeze swept in, both creatures were kept warm by their thoughts.

* * *

Creatures of the Abbey bustled to and fro, gathering ripe strawberries and other crops from the orchard or working the kitchens to prepare the food.

Mury Cluff watched the Dibbuns to make sure that they were not near the windowledge of the kitchen at any time, but he could be seen swiping the occasional pasty or scone from the ledge.

There was only one day left until the feast would be upon the Abbeybeasts, and old Brother Malfield was frantic.

"No! Don't pull the strawberries off like that, you'll crush them!" he wailed at a young mousemaid picking as she picked them.

A short while later and yells from the kitchen could be heard. "Mury Cluff! I've had enough of your pie-pinching, scone-swiping days! Stay away from that windowledge, and don't you dare even think about getting in these kitchens!"

While he had been lecturing the old campaign hare, three Dibbuns had been working together to grab a batch of cooling scones from the ledge.

Abbess Laurelyne caught Brother Malfield weeping behind the steps to the battlements as she passed by.

"Oh, what's wrong Brother? Surely the Abbey has not set afire since you lost control."

"This is no time for your jokes Mother Abbess. The entire feast will be ruined! I- I-" the old mouse broke down, sobbing into a kerchief.

"There, there Malfield. Nothing bad is going to happen without your giudance. These creatures can take care of themselves. Perhaps you should try something to help out in the celebrations to take your mind off of otherbeasts' problems," she replied, patting him on the shoulder.

"Maybe your right, Abbess. I'm getting too worked up over everything. I think I will put in a little something for the feast. A woodland cream trifle, perhaps?"

"That's the spirit. Now come and stop your sorrow, there's a cake waiting to be made in that kitchen."

Brother Malfield set off for the kitchen in a most unlikely fashion, almost running to get there.

The Abbess chuckled at his antics and turned about to finish her walk through the grounds.

* * *

Although he was awakened in the night when he accidently upset the basket that Skrikeweb slept in, he had slept peacefully. Piketail had gained an angry screeching and a swollen nose from the incident.

He applied pressure to his facial scar from earlier in the week, but found that it was completely free of pain.

Today was the day of the midsummer feast. It was a little early, but feasts never had to be on the actual day, he figured.

Benches were being placed around in the shape of a hexagon, with space for creatures to get into the center to perform. This was swiftly followed by a huge pot full of shrimp, hotroot and watercress soup being made in a large pit.

Farls upon farls of bread varying in colour, size, shape, texture and taste were placed on each table, salad quickly following. Everybeast laid a contribution to the feast on the table, smiling at the admiring glances each gave to their platter.

Piketail had even baked something. With the help of Chief Jukro, he had made an assortment of fruit crumbles smothered in thick daubs of rose-hued meadowcream.

As each dish was laid on the table, the otter's mouth watered more and more, his eyes filled with rapture at all the delicious spreads.

He wouldn't miss this feast for anything else.

_

* * *

_

_Hurray! I've finally finished another chapter in this story. I had wanted to do it earlier, but I could never find the time between school, homework, reading and writing other stories._

_At least it's done now. And it's longer too! _

_Zealak Silverdirk_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Creatures began to awaken early the next day, bustling aimlessly about now that most of the tasks were done. The Dibbuns still needed to be bathed, but when anybeast brought it up, no one wanted to risk being drowned in suds and grime from the young babes.

After a sentence or two about the Dibbuns passed between two mice, Mury Cluff was at the point of severe agitation. "Oh, come on now, you bally rotters! Are those young chaps and chapesses too much for you, wot?"

Startled at the Mury Cluff's sudden interruption, the two mice stood in shock for a moment, then stared back with blank and sullen faces at the campaign hare.

Grumbling angrily to himself, Mury Cluff adjusted his polished crystal monocle and headed up to the Dibbun's dormitory. The old saying was true, if you wanted something done right (or in his case at all), you had to do it yourself. He wasn't scared of those young ones. He could level with them. He had been in battles at Salamandastron with the best, these Dibbuns would be easy.

The door opened with a creak as he pulled on the handle, the echo eerie in the silent staircase. Being experienced, the hare knew something was up. He wasn't sure, but it definitely wasn't good. The Dibbuns had planned something. And with all the time it took for anybeast to even talk about the subject of bathing, they would have already devised a scheme.

They might be scatterbrained and disorganized at times, but when a plan against the unsuspecting elderbeasts were thought up, they were quick and viscous.

Putting one lanky footpaw through the door, Mury Cluff waited for a bombardment of pillows and bedsheets to assail him. When that failed to occur, he lifted his face from his paws and looked about.

Everything was in disorder, but no less than usual. Wool blankets were placed between beds, sometimes making little forts for the Dibbuns. Some pillows were halfway across the room, others ripped open and spilling feathers on to the worn stones.

Not daring to make even the slightest sound, the veteran hare tip-pawed through the mess, peering under beds and around corners, searching for the young 'uns.

Snorting at his paranoia, Mury Cluff stalked to another door, opposite from the entrance. This was the door to the dreaded bath. Where mud-covered Dibbuns came in with dirty smocks, but came out with neatly combed whiskers and freshly pressed clothes.

The hare almost shuddered at the memories of his young days, when he had lived at Redwall before heading to the giant, extinct volcano, Salamandastron for miliatary training.

Creaking the small wooden door open on it's hinges, he did not fully expect the onslaught he met.

One Dibbun directly opposite the door, dropped his paw as a signal to the others. Moles, hedgehogs, mice and squirrels came at him with wet towels, sponges, soap; anything they could get their paws on. Yelling and leaping, they charged the hare, throwing the soaking articles at him, as Mury Cluff cried out in surprise.

"Hah! See's 'ow you like da baffs now, missa Cluff!" Roffle the squirrelbabe shouted as he tossed a bar of slippery soap at the hare's footpaws.

"Missed me, wot!" he laughed back, but a dirty smock interrupted further conversation. It covered Mury's eyes and he tripped forward onto the soap, crashing to the stone floor, now wet with water.

Old hogwife Spikeleaf heard the commotion from the stairs as she carried up fresh laundry. She immeadiately dropped it and raced to the dormitory to rescue the poor hare. "Don't worry Mury! Spikeleaf's comin' to help ya!"

She kicked the bathroom door open and stared in wonder at all the havoc the Dibbuns had caused. Water was everywhere, and Roffle, along with another squirrelbabe and a mole were trying to scrub Mury Cluff's head fur with a bar of soap in the overflowing tub.

"I say, guggle, miss Spike, uggle, leaf! Help, urgh, me!" the hare wailed as he was continously dunked under while the Dibbuns clambered onto his head and scoured his fur.

"Stop this instant, you brutes!" Spikeleaf thundered.

The Dibbuns immeadiately stopped, almost as if the command was a spell that froze them in place.

"Well, don't look at me like that! Clean this up! If you want to go to a feast this afternoon, you had better hurry," the hogwife scolded.

As Dibbuns scurried back and forth around her, Spikeleaf strode to the tub and yanked Mury Cluff from the sudsy water by his long ears.

"Ow-w, marm! You're worse than the Dibbuns. Spare me!" the hare wailed piteously, the Dibbuns sniggering as they saw the hedgehog giving him a verbal beatdown and cuffing his ears when he rubbed them in pain.

"Oh, stop it you faker! I'm surprised you let them attack you in the first place! You should be ashamed, and for that I'll stick you back in the tub and scrub you with a coarse-hair brush, maybe that'll teach you a lesson!"

The Abbeydwellers downstairs could vaguely hear the scolding of a gruff voice and the high-pitched wailing of distress coupled with the sound of sloshing water.

* * *

The feast was well underway, and Piketail was eating like a hare after a three season famine. Some cast admiring glances at the amount of victuals he could put away, some watched horrified, as mouthful by giant mouthful, he put a dent into the feast.

Swiftstream was unlucky enough to sit beside him. At one point he had seen her paw covered in meadowcream and he almost bit into it like a scone. She had yanked it away in the nick of time and angrily stuffed a raspberry tart into his mouth. He easily chomped through it and started on a bowl of the shrimp soup.

"Will you ever stop eating, Piketail?" the female otter asked as she watched him down a third leek and tomato pastie in the past ten minutes.

"I don' know. Do you?" he mumbled around a scone and a farl of nutbread. He swallowed and sucked a full tankard of blackberry and pear cordial.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Piketail. It's not polite," she scolded lightly, then gulped down a spoonful of his soup.

"Hrmm!" he yelled, his mouth closed as he grabbed the bowl of soup, which sloshed onto his baggy pants. He shrugged and wiped at it with a paw, and refilled the bowl.

Swiftstream put her head in her paws, hearing the sound of chewing, slurping and gulping next her.

Unknowingly, she had fallen asleep, and was awakened to Piketail shaking her lightly by the shoulder, until she finally came awake.

"Wake up, Swiftstream. You've been asleep for a while now," the otter chuckled when he saw her tired eyes meet his.

"Well, thanks for letting me know," she replied sarcastically.

"You're welcome," Piketail replied, equally sarcastic, his eyes dancing with laughter.

Swiftstream glared at him that patted his sotmach none to gently. "And how was the feasting?"

The male otter winced and pulled a face. "Uh, it was okay. The food was good, but I've had a stomach ache for and hour now," he grunted.

"Gee, I wonder why?" she rolled her eyes at Piketail's gluttony.

* * *

When the Dibbuns were finally finished their baths and in clean, dry smocks, Spikeleaf led them down the stairs, their fur shining as the light of the sun outside hit it.

"I not like baffs. Dey too durty," a mousebabe named Divy mumbled to Roffle.

"Well, the water wouldn't be so dirty if you didn't play in the mud around the pond all the time," the hogwife cut in before Roffle could reply.

Divy gave a small "hmph" and continued walking.

Opening the main door to the Abbey grounds, Spikeleaf yelled after them. "Don't get those smocks dirty, or I'll give you a bath as bad as Mury Cluff's!"

Stumping behind the hedgehog, Mury Cluff was dripping water, suds clinging to his headfur and whiskers. "You just had to do that, didn't you, marm?" he grumbled, then walked out into the sushine to get warm.

Games were set up all over the grounds, though most were near the orchard. There were at least three jars filled with strawberries where the Dibbuns would have to guess the amount. There was a greasy pole with a bag of candied chestnuts hanging from a rope near the top, an egg and spoon race, even a haversack distance jumping game.

Dibbuns were laughing and the elderbeasts watched, too old to participate.

"If those Dibbuns get themselves dirtied up, I won't be the ones to wash them," Spiketail said to herself.

* * *

The icy claws of winter began to tighten their grip on the land as the months of autumn grew colder. The trees gave up their leaves in silent surrender to the frost-laden air. Winter would be soon in coming.

"Oh please, Piketail. Just stay a little longer," Swiftstream begged as the scarred male packed up his few belongings.

"No, me 'n' Skrikeweb've stayed way too long already. If we don't leave now, then we won't be able to go anywhere until late spring." Piketail was far past negogiation.

Swiftstream slumped down, her face sullen as she mumbled something.

"What'd you say?" Piketail asked, Swiftstream's words had been incomprehensible.

"I said, I'm coming with you."

"No, you have to stay here with your family an' Chief-"

"I said I'm coming with you! If you won't stay, then I'll leave with you!"

Piketail was completely taken aback by the female otter's reply. "Fine, you can come with me, but don't expect it to be easy," he finally replied, letting Skrikeweb hop onto his shoulder.

Packing provisions for the journey, the trio set off as the sun began to set in the west, stars soon blanketing the dark sky.

* * *

_Hurray, another chapter! I'm finally starting to get back into the main plot of the story, since I fell into a big sidetrack back in chapter three, but it helped the story, so I'm happy._

_I am really enjoying recieving reviews for this story, since it's my best one so far. I hope you enjoy it too!_

_Zealak Silverdirk_


End file.
